


The Consequences of Falling

by imagined_melody



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Character Study, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 14:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9766988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagined_melody/pseuds/imagined_melody
Summary: Andrew thinks about falling, and the things that keep his feet on the ground. (Written for the AFTG Valentine's Exchange 2017.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for theordinaryvegan as part of the AFTG Valentine's Exchange! I know it's 3 days late, and I apologize; a chest infection/mild bronchitis has made everything a bit tricky the past few days. :( I hope you enjoy your Valentine!
> 
> Title is from the song "The Consequences of Falling" by kd lang, which was released in the year 2000 and is therefore pretty close to the time period of TFC. :)

He was on the roof because he needed air. 

Sometimes, when Andrew felt like he couldn’t breathe anywhere else, he scrambled out windows and up fire escapes, seeking higher ground. There was nothing different about the air up there, except that no one else was breathing it. It made Andrew feel better to not have to share.

Below, the world continued on uninterrupted. Above, Andrew sat and thought of falling.

The curse of a perfect memory meant that _that_ day when he was seven, the moment he first lost his already precarious balance, was burned into his mind with flawless recollection. He could instantly call forth the sensation of solid ground disappearing beneath his feet, the force with which he’d hit the earth and the way it had felt in his limbs as they bent at the impact, the expression on his foster mother’s face as she saw him struggling and ran to call 911.

That impeccable clarity was the only thing that could reach him sometimes, when the walls crowded in too close to bear and even Neil’s reassuring presence set his skin on edge. Being on medication had been its own unique taste of hell, but the depressive lows he felt without it were unpredictable and leveling. For days or weeks, he would fall just short of the mark of _functioning_ , and it was all he could do to pass off his mental disconnect as intentional bored apathy. 

The air on the roof felt charged, somehow. There was danger, here, and comfort too: up here Andrew could pull and pull at the frayed threads of his subconscious, and learn to make sense of what lurked there. Sessions with Bee were grounding, in their own way, but in his low periods they took energy that Andrew couldn’t spare. Sometimes _grounding_ felt like empowerment, like reassurance, and sometimes it felt like crashing to the earth at age seven all over again.

And so it was that Andrew came to the roof. He dragged himself skyward when things started to unravel, when he felt his breath coming faster and everything he’d kept so carefully contained falling apart. That first second when he climbed out into fresh new air was pure _relief_. Even as his heart beat a fraction faster with nerves at being up so high; even as his brain reminded him of the risks of falling. Andrew sat and memorized the feel of a solid surface underneath him. His feet had been steady for a long time; he could plant them firmly at a goal and no opponent could topple him. If he could remember the sensation of falling, then surely he could remember this.

Then, slowly, as his memory settled and the panic began to give way, he could feel it: if he focused at just the right moment, he could look out at the world below and imagine back to that exact day so long ago. He could reach back to that single moment when he was up high, untouchable, safe in the clouds where no one could find him. A memory, normally tarnished by trauma and overridden by the recollection of the pain that had followed, quietly made itself known. Andrew as he had been: not free, never free, but _safe_. At least for a moment.

He would always, he knew, be the boy who fell. But somewhere deep inside, he would also be the person who never did.

Neil found him eventually. He always did, always came looking for Andrew if he was gone long enough. Andrew heard the door to the rooftop open and close while he was knee-deep in memory; he did not acknowledge Neil, which didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. Instead, Neil situated himself next to Andrew—close enough to touch, but not to _be touching_ —and lit a cigarette. Then he pulled out his phone. “Nicky called.” He dialed voicemail, put the sound on speaker, and placed the phone between them as Nicky’s voice blasted to life, the sound of heavy dance music beating an incessant rhythm behind him.

“ _Heeeeeey! Guys!_ ” It was after midnight in Germany; Nicky must be out late, and from the sound of things, he was very definitely drunk. His voice carried on, a disjointed and over-enthusiastic narrative about Valentine’s Day and the club Erik had taken him to, that lasted three and a half minutes and only ended when he started to overshare and Erik took the phone away from him. Andrew let it play without comment, listening more to the sound of his cousin’s voice than the words he was saying, letting it tether him back to reality. Then, finally, he slid his gaze over and looked at Neil.

Sometimes Neil made Andrew feel like he was losing his balance all over again too. Neil took Andrew’s carefully constructed world and put his fingers all over it; it toppled him sideways, and at first he didn’t like it, but he recognized that dislike now as fear. The same kind of fear that made him go up and stand on roofs to remember the all-too-imaginable pain of falling. Neil was security and risk all wrapped up into one person, and when they first met Andrew thought _this could be a problem_ in a way that meant _this could be devastating_. 

But somewhere along the line, Neil had become part of the infrastructure. He had become the walls that held up the roof that held up Andrew so he wouldn’t fall. And Andrew had been as close as he got to _terrified_ at first, because Neil was unreliable. He lied, and he didn’t cooperate, and Andrew didn’t know whether he could trust Neil’s perplexing unpredictability. _As unpredictable as he is unreal._

What he learned, though, was this: if he knew the rules, Neil would fall in line. Give him an Exy court and he would play to his limits, but always within regulations. Give him a structure and boundaries, and he would honor them. Give him a reason to stay, and he would put down roots.

Neil tapped him on the shoulder, even though Andrew was still looking right at him. “Yes or no?” he asked.

Andrew kissed him, and built himself a refuge even higher up on the foundation of Neil Josten.

**Author's Note:**

> In other news, I find writing Andrew's perspective to be absolutely terrifying. This story was really hard for that reason. I hope I did OK with it.


End file.
